


Harry hates Surprises

by simeysgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeysgirl/pseuds/simeysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Harry's birthday and he's dreading what his friends have planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry hates Surprises

**Title:** Harry hates Surprises  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Word Count:** ~1700  
 **A/N:** Originally written for [](http://shadowsrest.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://shadowsrest.livejournal.com/)**shadowsrest** as a birthday gift.  
 **Summary:** It's Harry's birthday and he's dreading what his friends have planned.

Harry hated surprises. He always had done. Hermione told him once that it was probably due to him never having any nice surprises as a child, and then even nastier ones as a teenager. So, now, as an adult, Harry hated them with a passion.

Even people who worked with him knew not to sneak up on Harry. They'd soon learnt after Draco had tried to pull a prank on him not long after they had started working together. It had taken weeks for his eyebrows to grow back. Harry thought he might have been more heartbroken than Draco; he liked those eyebrows. And the rest of him, but that was a different story.

Harry simply didn't like not knowing what was going to happen. He didn't like blind dates for the same reason. Harry had been set up on blind date after blind date in the recent weeks. No one would—or could—understand why Harry wasn't in a relationship. Harry had tried to tell them that he'd found the perfect man, and that he just needed to pluck up the courage to ask him out. Harry was scared of his man's response. All in all, Harry hated surprises.

On the other hand, Harry loved getting presents. Christmas, birthdays, he didn't really care. He just loved the anticipation of holding the gift in his hand and knowing it was his. Harry didn't need Hermione's words to tell him that it was also due to his deprived childhood, he'd worked that one out quite easily for himself, thank you very much.

Harry was quite aware of the problems his friends faced on a bi-yearly basis, so he had come up with a solution. After another year of Ron and Hermione literally dragging him to Quality Quidditch with a stern, 'Just choose something, Harry. For fuck's sake', Harry had started dropping hints.

Whenever he and Hermione would be in Diagon Alley, Harry would point out one or two things that had caught his eye. He would owl Ginny magazines that _just happened_ to be folded at a page with something he fancied was printed. Ron was easy: Harry simply mentioned a product from George's shop that he might like.

Harry had especially asked—and finally got his friends to agree—that there would be no surprise birthday parties. There was no horror worse—since Voldie had gone, and even then, when Harry actually thought about it—than walking into a darkened room only to have your entire group of friends burst into a rousing rendition of the Happy Birthday song while some buff young man jumped out of a cake. He'd rather just have the buff young—blond, if possible—man, Harry had insisted.

It had worked well for a few years, and Harry was happy with the situation. If there was another thing Harry disliked, it was change. Harry told his friends that this year was no different to any other, but they wouldn't agree. It was special, they said. Something 'big' had to happen. No one would listen to Harry's argument that it wasn't going to happen. It was, they were sure of it.

Harry was turning 30.

At one time, Harry couldn't have imagined turning twenty, never mind thirty, and he was understandably shocked one morning to realise that he was indeed nearing the big three-oh. Ron, Hermione and the rest of his friends—bar Ginny and Luna, of course—had already celebrated their birthdays—and in some style, Harry thought. But Harry didn't want any of it. A small dinner with pre-arranged presents, Harry had insisted, but deep down he knew. He knew what they were bloody planning something.

Harry had even resorted to talking about his birthday in an effort to distract them. He took Hermione into Flouish and Blotts and showed her some titles he would quite like to read. He took a Portkey to see Ginny to ask her outright for a new Quidditch jersey. Harry had taken Ron to WWW and pointed out exactly which new products he liked the look of.

Each of their answers was always the same: 'Don't worry, Harry. It's already sorted.' And it worried Harry something rotten.

~

The day of Harry's birthday dawned bright and sunny. Harry wearily stepped out of bed and crept downstairs, ready to scold anyone jumping out at him. To his shock and delight, there was simply a small pile of cards on his kitchen table and a steaming cup of tea from Kreacher.

As he sipped his tea, Harry opened and read his cards. There were cards from all his friends, but also from the wizarding world at large. Apparently, his fame hadn't waned in the years since the war.

The rest of the morning passed in relative quiet. Harry pottered about the house, putting his cards on the mantlepiece before having a long soak in the bath. Hermione had Flooed to wish him Happy Birthday, and Ron and Molly had popped in with some freshly baked cupcakes for him. Ron had taken Harry to one side during their visit, and explained that their plans for his birthday had fallen through, promising to meet him at the Leaky as Harry originally wanted.

Yes, as if Harry would believe _that_. He wasn't completely stupid, you know.

As the clock struck seven, Harry steeled himself as much as he could and Flooed straight into the pub. He was expecting balloons and streamers, maybe some wine or beer handed to him as he exited the fireplace. He wasn't expecting a half empty pub, with no Ron, Hermione or any of his friends. There were just a few of the regulars potted around the pub, and Tom, as usual, behind the bar.

“All right,” Harry called out. “Where are you?”

“Not here, Harry me lad,” Tom called back. “Owled me earlier, Ron did, asking me to keep the usual table for you lot. And to make sure you had a drink the second you got in. On account of it being your birthday an' all.”

Harry nodded, smiled and accepted the glass of red that Tom offered. Grateful for his friends finally listening to him, he went to sit at their usual table, which was currently cordoned off with a grimy old piece of rope and a hand-written reserved sign.

Harry hadn't even managed to take a sip of his drink before the door slammed open, and all of his friends poured into the pub.

“Harry! Happy Birthday!” were the cries as the group made it over to Harry.

Harry was surprised to see not only the usual crowd, but his friends from work and Quidditch were there, along with Ginny and Neville. Harry was touched that they would both travel back to celebrate with him.

“Where's Draco?” Harry asked as he finally shook the last hand offered to him.

“Someone had to cover for us lot, didn't they?” Ron answered as his workmates laughed.

Harry's smile fell. He would've much preferred Draco to come instead of Gerald, who was not the cleanest of people, and was currently picking at his belly button. Harry _really_ didn't want his friends to discover his secret crush on his workmate, so he swallowed his grimace and laughed along.

“To Draco!” Ron called, lifting his pint in a toast. “May he have a quiet night,” he added with a solemn nod.

The evening was going fabulously; the drinks were flowing and laughter echoed around the small pub. One thing was missing though, apart from Draco: presents.

Not that Harry was very materialistic; he thought he had had a fantastic birthday. He just expected his friends to get him _something_ , what with how adamant they'd been that he celebrate his birthday in style.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered into his friend's ear while the others were busy watching Neville down a pint of something green, “I don't want to sound, erm, greedy... but I was just... wondering...”

“Where your presents are?” Hermione asked with a smirk that Harry had never seen on her face before.

Before Harry could answer, Hermione jumped up from her seat and whistled. Loudly. Everyone instantly stopped and looked towards them. A sinking feeling hit Harry as Hermione said two simple words.

“It's time.”

Harry dropped his head into his hands. Why did he have to ask? Why did he have to rock the boat? What the _fuck_ had they planned after all?

Harry lifted his head at the sound of wheels scraping across the floor, not having a clue what it was. A groan escaped as he noticed the huge cake being pushed towards him by Ron and Ginny. His group of friends burst into song—a frankly quite dreadful version of Happy Birthday—but Harry was focused on his cake. He was certain that it wasn't the edible kind.

As the song finished, Harry stood up and walked up to the cake, ready to berate his supposed mates—and rescue the poor man trapped inside it—when Ginny grabbed his arm and put her fingers to his lips.

“We have thought long and hard for something appropriate to get you for this birthday, and nothing we could come up with was good enough.”

“I would've—”

Ginny cut him off once more. “Now, we've seen you looking, and we've seen him looking. We've taken it upon ourselves to talk to him for you and we've here to do something about it.”

Harry was very confused. What him? Who's looking? Did they know? How? “What the f—”

In answer, Ginny simply kissed his cheek and said, “Happy birthday.”

Hands covered his eyes before Harry could react. “Don't panic. I don't want to lose my eyebrows again.”

Harry turned on the spot. “Draco?”

“Happy birthday,” Draco whispered. “Do you want some cake? Pansy made it. It might be a little big, but you know how she gets.”

Harry shook his head. He had other things to do with his mouth.


End file.
